


Anniversary

by TheVulpineHero1



Series: Anniversary+ [1]
Category: One Hundred Percent Orange Juice, SUGURI (Video Games)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Cute, Drinking, F/F, First Kiss, Fluff, POV First Person, Porn with Feelings, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 02:03:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20074306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVulpineHero1/pseuds/TheVulpineHero1
Summary: After a fun evening with friends, Nath and Sora find themselves becoming closer -- and sharing more than just a kiss. NSFW.





	Anniversary

The moon is waxing but my cup is full, brimming with the sweet rosé wine that Hime excavated from Suguri’s cellar and of which I have had too much. I am drunk and I am not drunk, enough to loosen my tongue and round off the sharp edges of the world, but not so much that I feel unable to say no to the next glass. It is a dangerous place, a test of my control, but I’m among friends and feel safe enough to walk the path. There is a fine line between ‘recovering alcoholic’ and ‘one too scared to drink’; I want to confront the demon of the bottle, not run away from it.

I drain half of my cup and carry on with my story, which I no longer remember the beginning of but know well enough to continue. A camping story, as it happens; against all odds, we seem to have found a subject that everybody in the household is passionate about or has fond memories of. I have a lot of camping stories, and a lot of hotel stories, when I can remember them. Anybody who travels or seeks to travel in the less populated places of the world has enough of these stories to make a book, and perhaps I would if I had any particular talent with words.

“So, the bears took just your food? Nothing else?” Hime asks. She’s been listening enthusiastically the entire evening. She said she wants to take a few weeks and explore more of the planet with Suguri at some point in the future; I had forgotten that the Earth is still a relatively new place for her, full of undivested wonders.

“Yes. It wouldn’t have been a problem if they had attacked the camp, at least not for me, but the guides wanted to track the bears down and get the food back, which I was less than thrilled about.” I shake my head at the memory. They’d been so passionate about it, and I had had to gently remind them that you didn’t get food back from a bear. The food, once lost, was swiftly eaten, and so were you if you went looking for it. Bears were the reclaiming hands of the forest, and what they took they did not relinquish lightly. “I spent hours talking them out of it, and they grumbled that we should have taken bear-proof gear for the rest of the way, but–”

“– there’s no such thing as bear-proof,” Sora finishes for me. She recently watched a documentary on bears, and it has convinced her that they are magical and near-omnipotent beings. She’s more or less correct, though; in my experience, bears are smarter than you think they are and almost as dextrous as a human, with far more weight and power. Unlike humans, they also have what amounts to can openers on their paws. To be truly bear-proof would render something human-proof as well, and thus useless. Perhaps I’m being a little generous in my assessment, but I have been both a traveller and a camper, and every person who camps or travels eventually learns the respect and fear for bears that earlier humans shared.

“It was good of you to convince them,” Suguri says. Of course, she is the one person at the table who has travelled as extensively as I have, perhaps more so. Her smile is vaguely paternal, and it feels as though I have won the approval of some distant god. “I’m fond of bears.”

“Bears are cute,” Sora declares boldly, and just like that, negotiations are opened. “They have round ears.” She thinks for a second. “And they’re strong.”

Hime smiles wryly. “How is being strong cute?”

“All the strong people I know are cute,” Sora answers, deliberately sweeping her gaze around the table. I imagine it lingers on me for just a half second longer than it ought.

“She hasn’t met Nana yet, I suppose.” Suguri smiles at her private joke, and Hime mock-scolds her, giggling the whole time.

Sora continues, undaunted. “Also, they’re tall when they stand on their hind legs. That’s cute.”

This point is received with rather less grace; the idea that tallness is equal to cuteness finds an uneasy home at a table with Suguri and Hime at it. Neither are exactly giants; Suguri is positively pocket-sized, and although Hime is a shade taller, you wouldn’t run out of tape measure if you took her size. As the tallest person at the table, even I’m not particularly sure if tallness equates to cuteness, but it’s a point Sora looks ready to defend, so it passes with only some token argument.

“Also,” Sora says, her eyes wandering back to me, “they’re good at food. They like eating.”

“And sleeping,” I say wryly, looking straight back at her. And then there is a long moment where we’re staring at each other and nobody says anything until Hime starts giggling, which I have had enough wine not to care about, and the giggle eventually spreads around the table until we are all laughing and happy and the motion is passed that bears are cute, regardless of how suspect Sora’s reasoning is. I hold my hand over my glass to say _no more_ and the wine bottle discreetly disappears from the table, having not been to anybody else’s tastes, and although I feel warm and fuzzy and companionable it also feels about the right time to make my excuses, go home, and ensure the cat is fed and hugged.

“Oh? Are you leaving?” Hime asks as I stand, perhaps a little unsteadily.

“Ah? Yes, I’m afraid so. I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“Your welcome, my dear, is indefinite.” I am vaguely aware of Sora and Suguri moving around me, clearing the table and fetching my coat, while Hime does her job as the dazzling hostess. They’ve all found the roles they want to play for this evening, I suppose. “Why, you’re basically part of the family now.”

“Huh. Which part?” I ask, because it seems like that’s the correct question and the conversation won’t be over until I ask it.

Hime pauses, and does the little mock-thinking thing she sometimes does when she wants to give you advanced warning about an impending joke. Maybe that’s why her teasing always feels so gentle. I wonder how much time she spends thinking about how to take the sting out of her barbs. “Well,” she says, slowly, “I should say you’re something of a sister-in-law.”

There’s a trap in there somewhere, but if I’m honest I feel too mellow to approach it with any caution. Let her have her fun. “Seems like high praise to me.”

“The highest,” she agrees with a disarming smile. I feel my coat being put over my shoulders, and slip my arms into the sleeves. “Sora? Perhaps you ought to make sure Nath gets home safely. She seems a little wobbly on her feet.”

I frown, but I can’t deny it. Sora fusses with my coat a little longer before pressing her palm into mine, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. God, I love that prosthetic technology is advanced enough to let me actually feel that. Humans are incredible. Not incredible enough to make truly bear-proof containers, but still incredible. I squeeze gently back, and let her lead me to the door. I feel warm, happy. Tired.

I’ll sleep well tonight.

* * *

I love my apartment. For a long time – a very long time – I simply roamed the world, sleeping rough or paying for rooms with handfuls of coins rendered valuable by antiquity. Every country was foreign to me; my own homeland had ceased to exist, wiped off the map by the last fires of the war. Probably for the better, if I’m honest; the fewer old banners for new fools to rally behind, the better. My apartment, humble as it might be, is the first place I called home. A space in the world carved out just for me.

But however much I love it, I must admit it’s a little small for two. As soon as we enter the hallway, I feel the distance between us shrink. Sora still has my hand in hers, for which I’m grateful; the alcohol has hit my system properly now, and done interesting things to my sense of balance. Not to say that I’m drunk, of course. My mind actually feels clearer after spending some time in the chill autumn air. But I’ve never been quite this tipsy with my prosthetics on before, and they’re messing with thousands of years of muscle memory.

“Are you okay?” Sora asks as she leads me into the living room. She squeezes my hand again. “Do you feel sick?”

“Not at all,” I say, and squeeze back. “Just a little unsteady on my feet. Can you set down a cushion for me?”

She nods and lets go of my hand. The cushions are stacked in a neat little heap in the corner, out of the way so I’m not kicking them around when I walk. Lately it’s become the cat’s favourite spot to sleep. It might be because they’re comfortable, but it might not; the cat is very whimsical with his choice of beds. He likes to sleep in one spot for weeks on end, but then suddenly changes spots for no reason and doesn’t even look at the old ones. So far he’s slept on top of the bookshelf, in a flower pot on the balcony, underneath my bed, and now he’s sleeping on the cushions, ensconced on the heap like a king atop a throne. His whiskers twitch lazily as he snores, the soft pale fur of his belly moving in and out with his breathing. Sora reaches towards him with almost exaggerated slowness and care, as if she’s inching her hand closer to a live flame. When her fingers are about an inch from his head, his eyes snap open. For a second, he has the alert, scared look of an alley-cat, but then he recognises Sora and chirrups in greeting, a trilled little ‘rrr’ from the top of his throat.

“Sorry, Roger. We need cushions. Can you please move?”

I smile to myself. Sora always seems so convinced that he can understand her. I’m just as convinced he can’t, but nevertheless he stretches out his paws and stands up. He has his catly duties to attend to, and there are currently four human legs in the apartment that he has yet to wind himself around. Only when he has vacated the cushions does she pick out a couple for us. She gestures for me to sit, and with my legs unsteady as they are, I’m delighted to oblige. To say I crumple onto the cushion wouldn’t be particularly flattering, but it would be accurate. The cat immediately occupies my lap.

“You drank a lot.” There is a mix of emotions in Sora’s voice as she sits down – concern, a little disappointment, but mostly curiosity. I suppose this is what we’re talking about now. It could be worse. Talking about drinking is always difficult, for a number of reasons, but I can count on her to at least keep an open mind.

“Not really. I drank too much, but not a lot.”

Immediately her brow furrows, and she begins to silently mouth the sentence to herself – the same way she still whispers the words when she reads. I forget that we aren’t speaking her mother tongue. That’s the danger of her talent, I suppose; she learns quickly and thoroughly, so much so that it’s tempting to believe she can master anything without much effort. Language doesn’t work like that, though. Even if you pick up the basics, they’re full of little fiddly bits that only time and experience teach. “I don’t get it,” she says finally.

“Hmm… Well, it’s like this. Imagine you’re on a strict diet, and you’re only allowed to eat one scoop of ice cream a month.” I cut off briefly as Sora winces at the idea of a future bereft of frozen treats. “But then you eat two scoops. It’s more than you’re allowed, so two scoops is too much – but it’s not a lot of ice cream overall. Drinking is like that for me. I’ve had problems with-”– I break off again, because my first instinct is to try and dance around the issue, and I don’t want to do that with Sora– “-_been_ an alcoholic. So I really shouldn’t have more than one or two drinks. But I know from experience how much I _could_ drink if I wanted to, and it’s a _lot_. What I drank tonight was barely anything compared to how I’d drink in the past.”

There is a long moment as this sinks in. Silence is staved off by the cat purring. “So why did you drink that much?” she asks.

It’s a pointed question. She’s good at asking questions like that – phrased in such a straightforward way that there’s no room for tangents, or misinterpretation. No wriggle room.

“Because,” I say, slowly and hesitantly, because there are truths that don’t look very good unvarnished, “it was _there_. But also because I was happy, and with people I trust. If I was alone, or sad to start with, I wouldn’t have drank that much. I wouldn’t have dared.”

To my great surprise, Sora smiles widely, apparently quite pleased with my assessment. “So it’s okay to drink if I’m there?”

“I think so, anyway. It’s hard to be lonely with two people. And I’m always happy when you’re around.”

I realise too late that I’ve said slightly too much. My feelings for Sora are… well, not always platonic, if I’m honest, and if I’m even more honest, that is a dramatic understatement. I feel like I remember more about the time I’ve spent with Sora than I do about the entire ten millennia before she woke up. Before we met again, I didn’t really have anything I wanted, or enjoyed. I was just digging in the ruins of the old war, whittling away the endless present by turning over bits of the past. The future didn’t matter. It didn’t exist.

Then we met again, by complete chance, on those cobbled streets. Looking back, I was like a moth to a flame; I could have just walked by her, chalked it up as a resemblance or lookalike and walked on, back to my lonely apartment that had no cat and no wine and no reason for me to really get up in the morning. I very nearly did just that. But I couldn’t leave her alone, lost, in the world that I had spent so long in. I thought I would just chat to her, give her directions, and walk away without affecting the course of her life. But when I walked away, she reached out further. She couldn’t catch me by the hand, but she might have caught me by the heart.

She was… unique. Chaotic and peaceful in the same breath, a slow Sunday morning nap and a Saturday night’s excitement rolled into one. Endlessly curious, and always dragging me in to enjoy it. And beautiful, too, in a way that’s scruffy and natural and unaffected. I don’t remember when I became aware of her physically, but once I did, I couldn’t not notice it – her startling green eyes, her supple legs, the artless grace with which she moved through the world.

Just like you don’t notice the beauty of the night sky until you finally stop and look at it, I didn’t notice I was falling for her until I overheard Sham talking at the beach house. Before, I had the vague feeling that I was getting in over my head. But when I finally sat up and considered it as a possibility, I realised I was already in too deep to be saved. If somebody took Sora away, I wouldn’t know what to do without her. She’s the defining person of my life.

So, yes. I’m just a little bit in love with her.

I don’t really know how I’m going to tell her. I’m not sure what Sora’s thoughts on love and romance are; I think she’s more aware of it than we give her credit for, but it’s impossible to know for certain. I don’t want to break what we have by moving too rashly. So until I’ve figured it out, I plan to just enjoy us as we are.

If she notices my slip of the tongue, she doesn’t react. She’s thinking deeply about something. I’ve never known her to _not_ think deeply, come to think of it. I picture her mind as a lake, and her thoughts as pebbles that drop into it and send ripples across the surface as they sink. The visible ripples eventually die away, but the stone falls very deep.

“It’s supposed to be a secret,” she says, “but I’m growing grapes in our garden. I was going to get them made into a wine and give it to you for your birthday. Is that still okay? I won’t do it if you’re worried about drinking.”

I smile. My heart calms down a little. I feel mellow again, and comfortable. “No, that sounds great – although you’ll have trouble giving it to me on my birthday. It’s been so long that I’ve forgotten when it was.”

“That’s fine. We’ll just pick a new one for you. Me, Suguri and Hime all picked ours out. Hime picked New Year’s Day, because she says she has good memories of it. Suguri picked an old holiday called Easter, since it’s about regeneration and rebirth, which is her job. She said I should pick Easter, too, since it’s also about a guy who died and came back to life so he could save the world,” she explains gravely.

“Easter… Isn’t that on a different day every year?”

“It’s convenient. I have an excuse in case I forget. Oh, but Easter went by before I picked it, so I’m owed a birthday this year. I don’t know when I’ll take it. When do you think is good?”

I blink. I wasn’t really expecting to get pulled into a conversation about optimal birthday deployment. “Whatever time you like, I suppose. Just make sure to tell me so I can get you a present.” I yawn the last few words. It seems like a good time to start thinking about bed. “Are you going to stay over tonight? I left all my sleeping bags at the beach house, so–”

“Muuu… Don’t sleep yet. I want to talk more.” She thinks for a second, and then pats her lap. “If you’re sleepy, you can rest your head.”

It seems like too good an invitation to resist. I slowly try and shift my body sideways so I don’t disturb the cat, but he slides off my lap like a bolt of satin, flicking his tail haughtily as he retreats back to his nest of cushions. At least I made the attempt. I’m conscious of my own weight as I settle my head against her thighs, which are warm and firm but still very comfortable. I can feel the texture of her tights against my neck.

“Did you find any treasure on your camping trip? You said you were looking for some.”

It takes me a while to realise what she’s talking about. The camping story, huh? It feels like I told that days ago, rather than hours. “Not really,” I say, thinking back. It was the usual stuff – the burned out husk of an old military base, used and re-used throughout the ages. Finally vacated, ready for me to pore over the remains. “I thought it was valuable at the time. I don’t think so now.”

Very gently, she begins to stroke my hair. It’s soothing – perhaps a little too soothing. I’m letting myself get carried away. It’s just something she’s doing to keep her hands busy, I tell myself. The tender way she’s doing it is in my imagination. “I want to go camping. Suguri taught me how to navigate by stars.” She pauses for a long moment. “I couldn’t do it before. The sky was black and you couldn’t see them.”

I try to imagine the stars as I stare up at the ceiling. I can’t picture them exactly, even though I’ve seen them so many times before. Despite feeling ever slower and more relaxed, I raise an eyebrow. “Is this the part where I volunteer to take you camping?”

“Oh, you guessed.”

There is a little mischief in her voice, and despite myself I find it charming. She doesn’t laugh a lot, or make many jokes. Every time she does, it takes me by surprise. A little burst of happiness. Her hands are still stroking my hair.

“Why not ask Suguri and Hime?”

“They would just canoodle the whole time and make me put up the tent by myself.” She sounds unimpressed, but there’s a backnote of affection in her voice. “And Suguri says she’s seen the whole world, so she’d probably get bored just camping out.”

“Well, so have I, you know? Forests and mountains end up looking similar after a while.” I pause. “And if I forget my arms, you’ll still have to put the tent up by yourself.”

“Mm. But you’re always happy if I’m around.”

Ah. So she did notice. I feel a little blood rush to my cheeks, but feel relieved; if she’s teasing me so casually about it, she doesn’t feel awkward that I said it. Still, I feel like she just got one over on me. I can’t think what to say. A minute passes in silence.

“Nath,” she says finally, dreamily, looking out towards the window and the night sky. “Did you really get bored of the world?”

It’s a big question. The answer is yes and no, a shade of grey. The world is vast and there are a lot of beautiful things in it. But I did get bored – of the world. Or of life. But I’m not bored right now. I’m safe, happy, warm. Close to the woman I care deeply about.

“Maybe,” I say, when Sora’s hands stop running through my hair and it becomes clear she’s waiting for an answer. “For a little while. Not nowadays.”

“If you could go to a whole new planet and explore it,” she says, her eyes still peering out of the window towards the stars, “would you?”

And this time the answer comes easily, as if it has been waiting on my lips the whole time, just for this moment, and it takes everything I have not to say it straight away. It’s too much. Too honest. A little cheesy, too. Really, I shouldn’t say it. But – my mind turns over itself – I wonder if I could get away with it. I got away with the last one. Maybe I can say I was drunk. I don’t feel drunk. Giddy, yes, but very sober, like a priest about to make their confession, knowing that somebody is listening. The longer I try not to say it, the more impossible it is to keep quiet. I open my mouth, and know that I am lost.

“Why would I?” I hear myself say. “You’re on this one.”

There is a feeling of relief as I say it. Sora leans over me and looks down at my face, her green eyes looking at me with the same curious gaze she reserves for cats or waterfalls or flower baskets, and my heart hammers in my chest. Her eyelashes are longer than I remember them. Her lips are curved in a smile so small and subtle that it must be for me. Any second, I expect her to speak, and… what? Tease me a little, maybe, or ask me what I meant, or even tell me that I must be very tired and I should get to bed. Instead –

“Hime was right,” she murmurs, half to herself and half to me. “You’re bad at flirting.”

“Excuse– I wasn’t, I’m just– What’s _Hime_ got to–” I splutter the beginnings of sentences as I cycle through emotions – shock, embarrassment, fear. I feel like a child who’s been caught playing a trick. By god, I’m _ten thousand years old_, and I feel like a kid again. “I’m not _that_ bad,” I say eventually, pouting up at her. “And since when are you an expert on flirting?”

“I flirt with you all the time,” she says serenely. “I let you lie on my lap tonight. I picked out underwear for you that one time, and got us matching swimsuits. I even said you’re as cute as a bear. I was waiting for you to flirt back.”

I’m absolutely struck dumb by the revelation. When she says it like that_, _of _course_ it looks obvious. But at the time, she was going about it in such a straightforward way that I really didn’t know if she even realised she was doing it. You’re supposed to at least _pretend_ you’re embarrassed. This is non-standard flirtation. It’s against the rules.

All these grumblings are just a pretence to distract myself from a much larger and scarier question, one that is thudding and echoing in my mind: _what happens next? _The only thing keeping me from flying into a panic – a very quiet, dignified panic – is that Sora seems so calm. The nature of our relationship has just changed – it _must_ change. Now that we’ve admitted what we were doing, we can’t just stay as we were.

I can feel my heart beating in my ears. Her hands slowly trail down from my hair to my cheeks; she gently begins to lift my head towards hers. Her face is close enough for me to see the flecks of colour and patterns in her irises, and become lost in them. The world becomes very distant and far away. Gasping, I close my eyes.

Her lips are sweet, and soft.

The kiss is long, slow, comfortable. She’s a little clumsy, a little nervous; her fingertips tremble against my skin. We part, breathe, exchange a long, smouldering look. Kiss again. This is what it is to fall in love. With every soft brush of her lips against mine, I feel myself changing. The gaps in my heart, the needs that I have neglected and the wounds that never healed, she is filling them with herself. She’s stubborn and she’s childish and I love her. I don’t understand what she’s thinking and I love her. We shot each other ten thousand years ago, in a war and a world that made no sense, and I love her, I love her, and I’ll love her until I’m dead and if there’s anything after that I’ll keep loving her for as long as there is a me left to do it. There was a space inside my heart carved out just for her and now she is there and I have never felt so complete.

And when we finally part I want to tell her, but all my words have left my body and she looks so beautiful to me that I daren’t speak, I daren’t breathe, for fear that the moment will end. My heart hammers in my chest. I feel raw, sensitive, alert to even the tiniest expressions that flicker across her face; she is radiant with joy but worried too, waiting for me to say something, to tell her that she hasn’t overstepped some invisible boundary –

“Wow.”

It doesn’t come even close to conveying everything I’m feeling right now, but ‘wow’ is what I say, and no other word that I can find really hints at the sense of awe taking hold of me. The uncertainty tugging at the corners of her mouth disappears, and her smile spreads until it has lit up her entire face. “Wow,” she repeats back to me, and her voice has the same giddiness as an athlete lifting a trophy, as if she wants to burst into tears or laughter because the adrenaline needs to go _somewhere_. “Your face has gone so red.”

“So’s yours.”

“That’s because you’re cute.”

“Cute like a bear?”

“Cute like a Nath.”

“Is that an upgrade?”

“_Yes_,” she says, so emphatically that the cat lifts his head and flicks his gaze toward her as if to ask what the fuss is about. And I want to tell him, ‘_Sorry, Roger. I know I’m your human but now I’m Sora’s human as well, so you’re going to have to share me_’ – and the thought makes me want to check that’s right, just in case, just to make sure, like pinching yourself to make sure you’re not dreaming–

“Um, Sora, are we…?”

“Yes,” she says happily. “If you want.”

I kiss her again, because I can think of no better way to tell her what I want, and when I am done the lap I lie my head on is not my friend’s but my partner’s, my girlfriend’s. I feel at once as heavy as clay and lighter than air; my body has reached its limit for the night, but my heart is soaring.

“You’re tired,” Sora says, noticing my drooping eyelids. “Let’s sleep and then talk more in the morning.”

It seems like a good plan to me; we have a lot to talk about, like how we’ll tell Suguri and Hime the news. I yawn indulgently, and, with a little reluctance, lift my head from Sora’s lap. “Alright. I’ll make you up a bed.”

“Yours is big enough. You should shower, though.” She stands up, stretches. “I didn’t want to say, but you smell like wine, a little.”

I smile ruefully, but accept the verdict. If we’re sharing a bed, then I want my skin to be soft and warm and to smell of something other than booze. Sora wanders off to make sure the bed is up to her exacting standards (i.e. is a vaguely horizontal surface), and I go to the bathroom for the evening’s ablutions.

Ten minutes later I am standing in the bathroom, swearing under my breath and no more washed than I was when I walked in. It’s the wine, of course. It does very interesting things to my body, which is nothing special; it does interesting things to everybody’s body, provided you drink enough of it. But in my case, the most interesting thing it does is make it damn near impossible to work my prosthetics, which is something of a problem when it comes to handling bra clasps. I feel like I’m trying to pick a lock with a rubber hose. I practised this. I literally practised just taking a bra off and putting it on again, and now I can’t do it. The situation isn’t helped by the fact that the bathroom is cold, and the knowledge that Sora is snuggling down in a warm bed, waiting for me to join her. The thought is maddening. There are pre-nap cuddles up for grabs, and I’m missing out.

Still, I don’t really have any remedy for the solution other than cursing, which I I do with gradually increasing volume and in many different languages, many of which no longer exist. It’s funny how the curse words are always the ones you remember. I only stop when the bathroom door opens with a long creak.

“You’re having trouble?” Sora asks from behind me.

I nod glumly. She must have gotten out of bed when she didn’t hear the water turn on. I mouth an embarrassed apology as she approaches.

“You wore the ones I picked out for you,” she murmurs, trailing her fingers up my back until she reaches the clasp. My skin prickles enjoyably at her touch.

“I usually do when I know I’m seeing you.” It’s a nice set – seashell white with rose gold trim. My only set, in fact; I usually do without, since underwear is one more annoyance in the morning if you have no arms. The reason I wear them when I visit… well, for want of a better term, you might call it good luck. They’re the only pair I own, so they must be the lucky pair. Standing here like this reminds me of when she first picked them out for me, and insisted on coming into the changing rooms when I had trouble with the bra; that might have been the first time I was really aware of her in a physical sense – as a woman.

Of course, that time she was helping me put the bra on. This time she’s taking it off. My stomach flutters at the thought. I feel nervous, but excited; my skin bristles in anticipation of her touch. I gasp aloud when she presses a gentle kiss between my shoulderblades, and then another, gently descending my back with her lips. Her fingers brush up against my skin as she undoes the clasp, sending pleasant shivers down my spine. After only a second or two, there is a feeling of relief as the tension on my chest dissipates and the bra comes undone. She slides her palms slowly up to my shoulders, unhooks the straps and slides them down my arms. I stand, bare-breasted, with Sora at my back, my nipples tightening in the cold air, and I have never felt so sensitive, so eager to be touched.

Then, silently, her hands fall to my hips. I feel her thumbs settle on the waistband of my panties, and there they stay, awaiting my decision. She knows she’s overstepping the line of helping, and that no matter how much I’ve drunk, I am more than capable of taking my own panties off. But if I’m honest – the very deep-down kind of honesty that I would never admit to in pleasant company – there is almost no force on Earth right now that could compel me to stop her. I have my answer. Very gently, I press myself into her hands. Her thumbs slip under the waistband of my panties; her breath hitches. Something deep inside me tightens pleasantly, squeezing down as she brushes against the skin near my most sensitive spots. When she finally begins to slide down my panties, they come away wet. She pulls them slowly all the way down my legs to my ankles, bending at the knee as she does; as I step forward out of them, I can feel her graze drifting upwards to the exposed, delicate parts of my body.

“Are you having fun?” I ask. I’m blushing furiously, embarrassed but unspeakably excited. Deliberately, I widen my stance a little, putting my weight on one leg and cocking my hip.

“Mm.” Her voice is deep, throaty. Her breathing is heavy. There is something deeply satisfying about knowing I am affecting her the same way she’s affecting me. My body clenches again down again. “Actually…”

“Mm?”

She hesitates. “Nath.” A deep breath. “Can I… see you? If it’s okay?”

“I’m not invisible, am I?” I ask. My voice trembles as I speak.

“I want…” Her voice trails off, as if that is the end of her statement: _I want_. “I… want you to turn around for me. Please.”

I take a deep breath. And another. Then, slowly, I turn. Finally, I look her in the eye. Her face is flushed. She’s changed out of her clothes and into some knee length shorts and a white t-shirt from the deeper depths of my closet; I can see the dark shape of her nipples beneath the fabric. I chart her gaze as she takes in my body, noting where her eyes stop – my thighs, the contours of my hips, the shape of my collarbone. She lingers for a long time on my breasts; although I’m still a little embarrassed, I square my shoulders and stand with my chest held high. I’m proud of my bust, as much as I’m proud of any part of my body.

There is a part of me, very distantly, that realises we are moving very fast. Not half an hour ago, we were sharing our first kisses, and now here I am, as bare as the day I was born in front of her. But it feels natural. It feels right. I’ve never felt quite so wanted, by anybody. I feel like I am being bathed in desire.

“So? What do you think?” I ask. I already know the answer. It’s written across her face. She is, without shame or hesitation, enjoying the view. But I want to hear her say it. I want to know her thoughts.

“…Your nipples are hard.”

I almost laugh. She has a gift for understatement.

“And,” she continues, her gaze dropping to the dark triangle beneath my belly, “you don’t have any hair, down there. It’s… mm. I like it.”

Actually, I got that area treated some time after the war finished. I couldn’t shave without arms, and it was embarrassing to be overgrown. Since then, I don’t grow pubic hair at all; the skin is smooth and pristine, and sensitive. I know at once that she is imagining what it would be like to touch me there, to feel the bare skin against her fingers.

“You’re beautiful,” she says in conclusion, with the dreamlike certainty she reserves for absolute facts and which I have come to adore.

“Do I get to see you?” I ask.

She thinks about it for a moment, and bites her lip. I can tell that she’s tempted, that she’s wobbling on the precipice. But in the end, she sombrely shakes her head. “Not tonight,” she says. “Otherwise we won’t get any sleep. Maybe for your birthday.”

I’m disappointed, but I can’t really argue. We’re already taking things pretty fast, and I wouldn’t blame her for being out of her comfort zone. I’ve had thousands of years to get comfortable with my body, and she hasn’t. “I’ll look forward to it,” I say, smiling. I turn away from her. “Well, I suppose I’d better get clean – unless you’re planning on watching me shower, too.”

For a second I think she might, but she shakes her head again and smiles. “I’ll see you in bed,” she says, and that by itself is more than enough for me

By the time I’m done with my shower, the hot water has taken the edge off my arousal and reminded me that I am, in fact, in dire need of a good night’s sleep. At some point Sora seems to have spirited my clothes and underwear away to the laundry hamper, so I guess I’m sleeping nude. Well, not like it’s anything she hasn’t seen before, as of tonight. I disconnect my prosthetics and put them in the umbrella stand, which is where they live when I’m not using them, and make my way to the bedroom.

“I was waiting for you,” Sora says as I shut the door behind me. She’s stripped down to her bra and panties, and doesn’t even pretend not to stare at my breasts. Well, she’ll get tired of them eventually, I’m sure. Hopefully not _too_ quickly, though. “We have to find out the best sleeping position.”

This, I soon learn, is a Very Important and involved process. Sora has refined sleeping into a fine science, and like many sciences, it requires rigorous control of all variables and a great many experiments. My job in this extremely serious process is to lie down and let the girl I love most in the world snuggle with me – a great sacrifice, I know, but somebody has to do it. After trying and retrying at least twelve positions, she settles on more or less draping herself over me, her arm around my shoulder and her head laying on my boobs.

“They’re pillowy,” she informs me. Good to know, I suppose. “And I can hear your heartbeat. It’s soothing.”

I smile, and kiss the top of her head. My skin is warm and soft from the shower; I feel heavy, doughy, and relaxed. When I woke up today, I would never have dreamed that we would be cuddling in bed together like this. I hope I’m not dreaming it now. “I’m glad you think so. You can tell me how well you slept tomorrow.”

“Mm. Goodnight, Nath.”

“Goodnight, Sora.”

Then, in a very small but serious voice, she says: “Love you.”

And if I had my arms on right now I would hug her tight and very carefully consider if I ever wanted to let her go. But I don’t have them, so instead I gently wind my leg around hers and press our bodies together, so we are as close as we can possibly be, and tell her: “Love you too,” and I don’t think I’ve ever meant anything quite as much as I mean that.

* * *

I’ve been awake for about an hour now. When I woke up, I was deeply happy without remembering why; I looked down and found Sora still sleeping in the exact same position, her chest rising and falling with each snuffly, sleeping breath she took. Apart from that, she was as still as a statue, although quite a bit softer.

Since then, I’ve just been enjoying the moment. Eventually, it will have to end; Roger needs to be fed, breakfast needs to be made and eaten, and we’ll have to talk to Hime and Suguri about all the new developments. That’s how time is. It marches forwards, never stopping. For the first time in centuries, I wish that it wouldn’t. I wish that, just this one time, I could have a day off from cats, clothes and close friends, and just spend my time feeling warm and happy with Sora on top of me.

I still can’t believe last night happened. It seems so… perfect, the speed and neatness with which we fell into place. Like it was all arranged in advance. But then, I think to myself, wasn’t it? Sora did say she’d been flirting with me for a while. It was just the first time I’d really convinced myself to flirt back. She saw her opportunity and took it. For her, it wasn’t a spur of the moment thing – it was something she had wanted, had been building towards. It feels so strange to be desired like that. I almost don’t know what to do.

Eventually, Sora stirs. She’s the type who wakes up when she’s good and ready, and not a moment before; that much is common knowledge. But it surprises me how quickly she transitions from being fast asleep to wide awake. As soon as her eyes open, she’s alert, with the same penetrating, purposeful gaze she always has.

“Good morning.”

“Morning,” she replies, momentarily lifting her head from my boobs. She quickly thinks better of it, and lays back down again. “Should we get breakfast?”

“I’m not too hungry, but we can if you are. If not, it’d be nice to cuddle for a bit.”

Her reaction is to press her ear to my stomach, presumably to listen for any tell-tale grumbling. Only when she’s satisfied that I’m not lying does she pop her head back up. “Okay. We can cuddle.”

“Would you have said no if I was hungry?” I ask, raising an eyebrow as she embraces me. Her body fits cleanly against mine.

“Mm. Usually. We can have cuddles any time, but you have to eat when you’re hungry. Breakfast is important.” She looks up at me with lively green eyes, and shifts so she can kiss me. Her lips are feather-light, a brief and tantalising softness. Little bursts of happiness explode in my belly.

“Usually?” I ask, when she draws away.

“Usually. Today is special.”

“How so?”

She doesn’t answer, but moves to kiss me again. I smile to myself. Maybe this is her way of stalling for time so she can figure out what to say, and how to say it. Not that I’m complaining. I settle back and allow myself to drift into the kiss, which is slower, longer, more indulgent. We break for air, and kiss again, and again. Gradually, the sensation changes. There is a hunger there, now, that seeps through in every touch. She opens her mouth just a little wider, and brushes her tongue against my lips. I part mine, and from there on, everything is pure instinct, a pleasant blur. When we part again I lie back, gasping, almost dazed; my head is fuzzy as blood rushes away from it and into more sensitive areas. At some point, I don’t know when, she started straddling me, and now she sits upright, looking at me with heavy, half-lidded eyes and her mouth every-so-slightly open.

“Because,” she says, haltingly, “I’ve decided. Today’s your birthday.”

A few quick retorts flash through my head, but then she reaches for the buckle of her bra and everything else goes out of the window. She removes it with an ease I would be faintly jealous of, in any other position, but am quite happy for right now.

“…It’s embarrassing,” she murmurs, as if surprised.

Her breasts are perfect – not large, but firm and perky, with stiff, pink little nipples. The skin is a shade paler than the rest of her body; she must have tanned a little at the summer house, even through her shield. There’s something erotic about that that I can’t quite put my finger on. Oh, god. I _wish_ I had hands right now. Or that she’d lean a little closer so I can use my mouth.

My attention shifts when she raises her hips and shyly begins to roll down her panties. She’s a lot more hesitant than she was with her bra; I feel like I’m being teased, and take a secret twinge of pleasure in it. She slips the waistband down just far enough for me to see a neatly-kept tuft of blonde pubic hair, and I find myself having to stifle a gasp of anticipation. The sound seems to encourage her, and she lowers her panties the last few precious inches before quickly slipping them off her ankles. She is bare, now, and beautiful; I lose long, precious seconds just staring at her, drinking her in. Her sex is small, delicate, glistening slightly in the early-morning light; I lick my lips and find them already wet. Her scent is beginning to spill out into the room, and into my head, where it replaces everything else with a deep, deep thirst.

“So?” she asks, her voice thick. “What do you think?”

I don’t know what I’m thinking. My head is full of her. Her supple legs, the lines of her stomach, her pert little nipples. I look up at her, straddling me, and try desperately to press this moment into my memory. In five years, or ten, I want to remember how this felt. I want to revisit this moment on the long, lonely nights. I _need_ her right now.

“Kiss me,” I say. She smiles gently, and leans down slowly to my face, until our bodies are flush again. I can feel her breasts pressing against me, the sharp points of her nipples on my skin. I abandon myself to her kiss, lose myself in her lips. She shifts herself and lies beside me, gently pressing kisses to my cheek, my neck. There is a spot of sublime wetness where her sex presses against my hip. She runs her fingers across my stomach and then up, with tantalising slowness, to my breasts.

“Can I?” she asks.

“Sora,” I say, and it is difficult to speak. I hadn’t realised I was breathing so heavily. “If you don’t touch me right now, I think I might go crazy.”

She makes a quiet, satisfied sound – almost a purr – and gently cups my breast in her left hand, stroking with her thumb. Her touch is light and cautious at first, but she slowly begins to explore the texture and the weight with greater abandon, rolling my nipple between her thumb and forefinger, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh. It feels sensual but somehow relaxing, like a massage after a long day. I sigh happily; emboldened, she presses her mouth to my other breast, lifting it up and kissing the delicate skin on the underside before taking my nipple into her mouth. She strokes the tip with her tongue before sucking, long and hard. I can’t suppress my moan as she lets my nipple slip free. She adjusts her position, moving her mouth from my left breast to my right, bringing up her other hand to attend to the one she was playing with. Her left hand, meanwhile, begins to snake slowly, slowly down my stomach and to my hips. Something inside me squeezes down hard as I realise what she’s doing. All the feeling in my body seems to concentrate itself in my breasts, and in my crotch; I quiver as her fingertips brush against the sensitive skin between my thighs. She circles the area, _definitely_ teasing now, and I impatiently press my thighs together around her wrist, arching my back up to press my head into her shoulder, dotting kisses blindly across her skin.

Gently, finally, she begins to touch my sex. I hiss in satisfaction as her fingers slide across my labia. Her movements are slow and careful; she draws her hand back when she hears me gasp, and her fingers come away slick with my juices. I ache for her. My pussy clenches hard. I put my mouth to her ear and whisper, raggedly, “Sora. Please. I need you.”

She nods slowly. I feel a fingertip pressing at my entrance; her touch is unbearably soft. My body accepts her easily, greedily, like a flower opening up for the sun – first one finger, and then, hesitantly, a second. I throw my head back and try to breathe, taking in air in long, heavy gasps. When my breathing stabilises again, Sora captures my mouth with a kiss, and begins to move her fingers. Every little brush they make against my walls sends little sparks of pleasure dancing up to my brain; every little motion is rewarded by my body squeezing down on her again just a little harder. Even though I know I won’t last long at this rate, I can’t help myself, and I begin to rock my hips back and forth, trying to ease her deeper inside. I feel my body tightening. As she gradually speeds up her motions, the heel of her palm brushes against my clit.

Soon – all too soon – it’s too much. Her fingers find just the right spot, and the pleasure that is building inside me boils over. I climax hard, my legs shaking and my chest heaving, little stars exploding before my eyes. All the strength floods out of me as my body goes through the last, desperate convulsions around her fingers. We are both still. When my inner walls finally stop trembling, she gently slides out her fingers, looking at them as if in awe; with only a little hesitation, she licks her fingertips.

“Ahh… That felt so good. Sorry,” I say, when my senses have returned a little. I came so hard that I honestly feel light-headed; even though I’m apologising, I can’t seem to muster up any genuine regret, especially not with the warmth of the afterglow trickling down my spine. “I was a little quick. I hope you’re not disappointed.”

She throws her arms around me, nuzzling my face and dappling quick, feathery kisses on my neck. “Nu-uh. It’s not your fault.” I can hear the hint of a giggle creeping into her voice. “I’m just good at sex.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” I retort, dreamily. “It’s been a long time since I did… this kind of thing. You had me on a hair trigger from last night, anyway.”

“Mmf. If you say so,” she replies. Her hand drifts lazily to my breast again. “Um. Can I…?”

“Go ahead. Be gentle, though. I’m sensitive at the moment.”

She smiles and begins playing with my chest again, with almost exaggerated care. I still don’t know what she’s thinking about most of the time, but I can rest assured that at least _some_ of the time, it’s boobs. “They’re so heavy,” she says, cupping them. “Doesn’t your back hurt?”

“They designed me as a heavy weapons platform. They mounted me with a _railgun_. My back can take it,” I say, laughing. “Now shh. Afterglow.”

For the next few moments, I luxuriate in post-sex bliss. As Sora touches me, I can feel my heart attuning itself to her, binding us together more and more in my mind. Where Sora is, I will go. Where she travels, my heart will follow. Those feelings, to me, are facts: ironclad convictions that will last the rest of my life.

“…Was it really good?”

It is a tiny, whispered question. A doubt bubbling up to the surface. I will myself back to reality. I’m being self-indulgent. I don’t think it’s wrong to want to enjoy the soft, heavy satisfaction of having made love, but there are more important things right now. Thinking about it, how much experience does Sora have? Probably not much, if any. She touched me so carefully, as if she was afraid I might break. Who wouldn’t want a little reassurance in a situation like this?

“It was good. _You_ were good.” I shift so I can look at her, eye to eye. “I felt so close to you. I feel so close to you now. When you touch me, I can feel the love behind it. When you look at me, I feel wanted. It’s the best feeling in the world. Even better than when I came, although that was great too.”

“Mm.” She wriggles against me happily. “We can do more. If you want. It’s your birthday, so we can do what you want.”

She trails her fingertip down my thigh, just to make sure I’m taking the hint. It’s tempting – or, rather, it will be in about an hour when my body knows what’s hit it and my nerve endings aren’t turned up to maximum sensitivity. But… it’s not like I don’t want to do more. I want to let her know how I felt – how good it feels to be touched, to be pleasured, by somebody you love. She deserves that, and I want to give it to her. …also, she’s dripping wet, and the smell of her arousal is driving me insane. Sometimes you don’t need a particularly noble reason to want to eat out your girlfriend.

“What I want right now is to taste you,” I whisper to her. “But you’ll have to help me out a bit. There are a lot of positions it’s difficult to stay in without arms.”

She squirms a little, rubbing her thighs together gently. A blush spreads through her cheeks as she considers the mechanics of it all. “…Okay,” she says, finally. “Please.”

I lie back, and beckon her with a tilt of my chin. “Alright. Come and sit so you’re just above my face.”

After a tiny murmur of assent, she oblige, kneeling with her legs folded under her, one thigh on either side of my head. Her hips hover an inch or two above my mouth, as if she doesn’t know whether to press them closer or pull them away.

“Muuu… Hurry. This is embarrassing.”

“I’m just enjoying the moment. You look great from this angle.” From here, I have a lovely view of the front of her body – the lines of her stomach, the silhouette of her breasts from underneath. And, of course, her crotch, completely bare and exposed. The lips of her pussy are swollen and puffy with need. “I could get used to it.”

“Mmpf. You’re just staring at my–” She breaks off, not quite sure what word she wants to use to describe her most intimate areas.

“Maybe,” I agree, and gently blow a stream of air towards her pussy. A shiver visibly goes down her spine as she feels it. A little bloom of satisfaction lodges itself in my heart. I’m the only one that gets to see this part of her. The only one she shows that embarrassed face to. “You’re really cute down here, you know. Do you trim?” I ask, pressing a kiss near the little tuft of pubic hair above her lips.

“…It gets scruffy otherwise,” she mutters. The hair on her head gets scruffy as well, but I don’t see her trimming that. It’s a charming kind of scruffy, in my opinion, although I’ll be keeping that one to myself. “Nath–”

The world will never know what she was about to say. I’d put good money on it being some variant on ‘hurry up’, but the words never leave her lips; instead, she cuts herself off with a gasp as I draw the flat of my tongue up across her entrance, making sure to flick her clitoris with the tip. A tremble runs through her, and her thighs squeeze gently against my head.

“Lower your hips a little for me.”

Wordlessly, she obeys. Now that she is within easy reach, I begin to press kisses – long, short, gentle, hard – to the skin around her vagina. At first, I am teasing her, moving closer and then further away, working to drive up her anticipation. But then, at some point, I think to myself: there is so much of her that I want to kiss, and so much of her that I haven’t. I want to let her know I love every inch of her, one by one, and all I can do is start with the bits in front of me. Well, there’ll be time enough. Years and years and years, sprawling out in front of us. Gradually I draw the circle of kisses inward, closer and closer to her centre. Her hips shake with impatience; she makes a little stifled ‘nnn’ in her throat, and I know she’s ready.

I close my eyes and finally press my mouth to her pussy, sliding the lips open with the point of my tongue and exploring the folds underneath. I’m getting to know her. This is the woman I love; this is her taste, her most delicate and intimate places. The warmth at my mouth is hers.

Very slowly, I begin to work, gently probing and looking for the places that make her react. She’s surprisingly vocal – not loud, by any stretch of the word, but she communicates, through gasps and low, instinctual sounds, what’s working for her, what’s not. I like that. Sex, like love, is a two person job if you’re doing it right. From time to time I pull back and attend a little to her stiff little clitoris, licking and sucking until she groans, then dipping my tongue back into her, varying the sensations as best I can. She begins to rock her hips gently, pushing herself closer to my face, helping me to go deeper. The way her walls squeeze tightly, trying to catch my tongue, is proof that she’s getting there, slowly climbing the peak toward orgasm.

It doesn’t take me much longer to find what I’m looking for. She hisses, almost triumphantly, as my tongue brushes against her, and I pause, writing it into my memory: _This is the spot_. _This is where she feels it best._ Having found it, I redouble my efforts, and feel her shudder under the stimulation. Her eyes glaze over, and the gentle rocking of her hips becomes less gentle, more insistent, more primal. Her hands come up to her breasts to play with her nipples, driving herself just that bit harder towards the edge. Her breath catches. Her entire body trembles –

With a gasp and a shudder, she climaxes, squeezing my head between her thighs so tightly that I wonder if she will ever let me go again. She wobbles as the strength leaves her, and she all but collapses sideways next to me onto the bed. She pulls me into her arms, kissing me long and hard and mindlessly, working on pure instinct, pure emotion. Her breasts, pressing against mine, are slick with sweat.

“Good?” I ask, after giving her just a few minutes to stop seeing stars.

“Shh. Afterglow,” she whispers, holding me even tighter. “Love you. Lots.”

“Love you too, Sora. Lots.” I nuzzle her hair. She nuzzles my boobs. I guess that’s a fair trade.

A few more minutes pass, punctuated by sweet nothings and whispered affections. Slowly, all the tension in her body seems to melt away, until I’m sure she’s going to go to sleep again.

“Nath?” she asks. Even her voice is relaxed and drowsy.

“Mm?”

“Let’s go again,” she says, running her fingertips down my spine. Then her stomach growls loudly. I raise an eyebrow, and she giggles quietly. “After breakfast. I’ll cook. What do you want to eat?”

I pretend to think for a moment. “Something nice and nourishing, I suppose. It sounds like I’m going to need lots of energy today.”

“Mm,” she nods, seriously. “I’ll make bacon and eggs.”

“Bacon and eggs for breakfast, and you for lunch. Sounds perfect.”

“You’re still bad at flirting,” she replies, although a smile and a blush have crept onto her face. “I’ll let practise as much as you want, so try your best.”

“Will do,” I say, stretching my legs. “I’ll feed the cat. Can you pick me out something to wear?”

Her reply is immediate. “It’s your birthday, so you should wear your birthday suit.”

“You’re just looking for a show.”

“Maybe.”

We keep chatting as we go about the morning tasks, losing ourselves in the gentle back and forth. Soon, the cat is rubbing himself around our legs as we sit at the coffee table, stealing long, sappy looks at each other and fuelling ourselves for what promises to be a very busy day unless we put some clothes on. I feel content in ways I have never known, and might never have known if not for Sora.

When breakfast is done, I pick out a pen and find today’s date in my calender. Underneath it, I write _‘Birthday – For Now’ _in big, block letters – and then, smiling to myself, ‘_Anniversary’_ right after it.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written almost a year ago as an art trade, and even if it's a little flowery in places, I honestly still adore it. I originally wrote it to be in step with the 'canon' in 'Tales of a Warless World'; attentive readers will have seen a few of these ideas, like Sora choosing her own birthday, before. In those cases, the ideas appeared in this story first, and I liked them enough that I let them seep through into the main series later. I remember working very hard on this story, and enjoying myself the whole time; I love these two sappy idiots. I only got permission to post this recently, so it's the first time it's appeared to the public. I hope people have enjoyed it.


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